This Could Last Forever
by BregoArodShadowfax
Summary: Marius is trying to get used to the fact that the ghosts of his friends won't seem to leave him alone. Except, as he comes to realize, maybe it's what he needs the most. And maybe, just maybe, he's really quite glad that they're staying around. Marius-centric fic with appearances from all the Amis.


**Title:** This Could Last Forever  
**Fandom:**Les Miserables  
**Author:** apolloenjolras  
**Rating:** Probably PG-13 at the most  
**Characters/Pairing:** Marius-centric, Les Amis, some mentioned canon pairings but nothing really focused on  
**Chapter:** 1/1  
**Word Count:** ~2300

**Summary: ****I've been toying with this idea for a while and today I saw some fanart that related to it and it prompted me to write this. Basically, it's Marius dealing with the fact that the ghosts of his friends aren't leaving him alone. And how he's really actually kind of okay with that. **

**This Could Last Forever**

The first time it happens he's not entirely sure he isn't hallucinating, but when you see somebody that you'd previously thought to be dead sitting on a park bench reading from a textbook like it's simply a normal day, it takes a while for your brain to realize that something _isn't right. _

When he does, his entire body shivers, the previously warm air turning ice-cold, especially when he realizes that he can actually see _through _the man and that nobody else seems to be taking notice of him.

It's probably a bad idea to cross the space between them and slide onto the bench next to him, but Marius does it anyway. He's tense, his fingers gripping the knees of his trousers hard enough that his knuckles have turned white, but the other man merely gives him an appraising look over his glasses and smiles.

"You're not insane, Marius."

"I'm not sure I'm entirely sane, either," Marius grumbles, his voice hardly a whisper. "You're…"

"Dead? Yes. Horribly so," there's something in his voice that makes Marius vow to never ask what had happened, because while he knows all of his friends died that day, and he hopes that it was quick and without pain, he knows that it probably wasn't the case for all of them. "But I don't think any of the philosophers counted on this being a possibility in the afterlife," he looks peaceful now, his fingers tapping idly on the book that is as see-through as the rest of him, and Marius sighs.

"So I'm not going crazy."

"Assuredly not. Or, at least, not because you can see me. You _are _the only one of us left, Marius, and I don't know if it's some form of universal justice that we're all destined to be around until you pass on as well, but I wouldn't discount the possibility of seeing…more of us in the future," he reaches to place a hand on Marius' knee and while the younger man can't feel it and that should frighten him, it's more of a comfort than anything else.

"I shall keep that in mind," he finally forces a smile onto his face, and Combeferre smiles back at him.

000

"I feel like I should be proud of you."

"You shouldn't," Marius groans and leans against the wall, working his jaw a little bit to ease the ache there. "I shouldn't have done that."

"You came out of it better than he did."

Marius looks off to the side and shakes his head to clear it, because although the man there is no longer alive, the smell of the cigarette he's smoking is all too real and it's confusing the young man's already addled brain. "He was…saying things. About how you all deserved to die, for doing what you did. I know he wasn't talking to me and I just overheard it, but I couldn't…"

"Well, maybe we did," Bahorel shrugs and keeps smoking as if none of this is any concern to him. "But thank you. You could learn to be a good fighter yet, Marius."

"I don't think I have any aspirations in that direction. I'm not _you," _he counters, and Bahorel starts laughing, and Marius thinks that maybe if he's okay joking with ghosts that he's getting used to this after all.

He did win the fight, so perhaps in the end that is indeed something to be proud of.

000

"What did she say?"

"I don't…" Marius doesn't know how to respond, because he can tell the other men already feel incredibly guilty and he's not sure anything he tells them will help. "I…"

"We've tried, you know. Talking to her, being around her, but it seems as if the only person in Paris…maybe the world…who can see us? Is you," Joly's leaning on his cane, his eyes sad as he stares across the park. "Is she happy?"

"As happy as can be expected, I suppose. I don't know if she'll…ever love anyone else, but…"

"She should. She deserves it," Bossuet is seated on Marius' other side and while the younger man really has no idea _what _the relationship was between he and Joly and Musichetta, he knows they all cared for each other deeply and perhaps that's all he _needs _to know. "Will you…"

"I'll look out for her, if I can," Marius promises, because he does owe the other men that, and they both look a little happier at the news, at least until Joly sneezes and Marius glances over in surprise.

"Apparently ghosts still have allergies," the man mutters, digging in his pocket for a handkerchief, and Marius bows his head and tries to contain his laughter.

000

"Didn't think I'd see you here. Problems at home?"

The bottle clanks loudly on the table as the other man seats himself and Marius has almost gotten used to the fact that some objects, despite not being real, still sound and smell and act as if they are.

"Not really, no," Marius shakes his head, because truthfully things with Cosette are going better than he could have ever dreamed, but sometimes he just gets…melancholy, and needs some time to himself.

He's not big on drinking to dull his thoughts, but something had led him to a nearby wine shop and he supposes it's not too hard to believe the other man's spirit would find his way there as well.

"Too many thoughts and nobody to speak them to?"

Marius looks up, then, because he's long known that Grantaire's far more perceptive than he appears to be, and maybe ghosts just _can't_ attain the level of drunkenness that mere humans can but the other man looks startlingly sober at the moment.

"How…"

"I know a thing or two about love, Marius," he says seriously, and Marius believes him and nods. "But, you're in a wine shop and you're not drinking any wine, and that is hardly acceptable, my friend. So go, get a drink, and come back and we'll talk," he prompts and so Marius does, thinking idly that it might look…odd to the other patrons if they were to see him talking to himself, but then realizing that since most of the customers were too drunk to notice anything around them he'll probably be okay.

"So talk, my young friend," Grantaire says once he's back at the table, and he does, and it helps.

And maybe knowing that Grantaire's likely to be hanging around this place for the foreseeable future so he'll always be easy to find helps, too.

000

"It's impossible," he crumples another piece of paper and throws it aside, lowering his forehead to the table and lamenting the fact that he seemingly doesn't have a decent creative bone in his body.

"Are you actually trying to write a poem?"

"It's for Cosette," he mumbles, not thinking about the fact that he should be _alone _in his house at the moment. "Our one year marriage anniversary is coming up and I wanted…to…" it finally dawns on him that _something _isn't right, and he spins around quickly.

Because while he may have gotten used to the others popping up here and there, it's never been _inside his home, _and that's a little surprising.

"Jehan, what…"

"Sorry! Horribly rude of me to just…come in here without asking, I know, but you're having trouble writing a poem, and I…" he points to himself and Marius finds himself breaking into a smile. "I consider myself an expert on both romance and poetry, so I thought I would offer my services."

"And they're greatly appreciated," Marius sighs in relief, because yes, having an actual _poet _around might make things easier. "I just…she's so special, and she's helped me so much and she could have just…left me alone to fight my demons by myself, and I don't even know if a simple poem is enough to show that. But I'm hopeless when it comes to making anything myself," he chuckles ruefully and rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

Jehan seems to consider this a moment before tugging on Marius' sleeve, and he might be imagining it, but he can almost _feel _the fabric moving. "I've an idea. Come with me."

Which is how Marius finds himself outside a ramshackle house on the other side of town, barely better than the place he'd been living before the insurrection, and Jehan urges him through the broken-down front door and into a tiny room down the first hall. It doesn't seem like anybody's been living here for a long, long time, from the amount of dust covering the old furniture scattered across the space. "Where are…"

"Here, I can't lift it so you'll have to," Jehan bends down and Marius notices that one of the floorboards looks a little loose, so he pries it up and finds a box inside, lifting it out and opening the lid carefully.

"These are…"

"I didn't know if we'd be coming back from the barricade alive."

The voice behind him startles him so much he almost drops the lid, but he manages to set it down gently and turns to look over his shoulder.

"I know I don't…I didn't have much, I had no legacy to leave behind, but I thought…well, better than letting them get ruined," Feuilly's leaning against the door, hands in his pockets, and Marius knows without asking that this used to be his home.

"I…" he stops, because he's not sure what to say, but Feuilly shakes his head and moves into the room.

"If you want to, you can have them. I'd feel better knowing they were with you than here for anybody to walk in and find them, and if you…if you think they're good enough to give to Cosette, then…" he's still unfailingly humble and Marius ducks his head because he's too emotional, maybe, but it does mean a lot to him.

"Of course they are. You were…are…an extremely good artist," he assures the other man, who at least looks a tiny bit happier, and Marius picks up the box of fans and moves toward the door. "Thank you."

"Of course."

"Come on, then, I promised Marius I'd help him write a poem for his lovely wife," Jehan prompts, and while Feuilly protests something about not being good with words, Marius knows that he'll come along regardless.

And he's thankful for that.

000

"She asked me, you know, if it's a boy…if I wanted to name him after any of you," Marius says quietly, and the presence beside him is so great that he knows who it is without even looking.

"What did you tell her?"

"That I'd think about it."

"Don't name him after me," is the response, and Marius finally turns. "I doubt she'd want her son to grow up to be like me."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Marius says quietly and he hears the other man sigh. "Anybody would be proud to bear your name."

"But nobody should have to," Enjolras sounds cold, now, and Marius decides that it would probably be best to leave the topic alone for the moment. "He…or she…should grow up without the shadow of dead men and women hanging over them."

"Perhaps," Marius keeps his tone neutral because in all honestly he _hasn't _decided yet, and he knows that if he _does _choose one of his friends to name his child after he'll never hear the end of it from the others.

Not, of course, that he can explain that to Cosette.

"Besides," Enjolras softens his tone a little and Marius looks more fully at him, still proud and tall and determined even if he's not living, "You don't need to carry on our memory through your son. Not when you still have us here."

"True," Marius admits, and it's such a comfort to him that it sometimes amazes him how much he takes for granted that they _are _still here in their way. "Well, almost all of you."

"He still hasn't…"

"No," Marius shakes his head, and it hurts a little because he can't understand why, out of all of them, only one of them has seemingly chosen not to come talk to him.

"I'll speak with him. He'll be here," Enjolras promises, laying his hand on Marius' shoulder and this time Marius _knows _he can feel a weight there before the other man is gone.

But Marius knows he'll keep his word.

000

"I wasn't avoiding you."

"Courfeyrac!" he yelps because Courfeyrac has, of course, the audacity to show up _right in his bedroom _and the other man laughs and seats himself on the still-unmade bed. "Do you mind?"

"Not terribly. I've been watching you, you realize, but I suppose I wasn't sure…never mind. You missed me?"

"You know I did. You were…"

"I was," he agrees, because Courfeyrac was _so much, _and even though the other man has his own oddities and his way of life is somewhat confusing to Marius, he was undoubtedly his closest friend and it hurts every day to know that he's not physically around any longer. "Well, I shan't leave you alone for that long again," he vows, holding a hand over his heart, and Marius believes him, because how can he not? "Now, come here and talk to me. Let's pretend nothing has changed," he looks eager and Marius complies, seating himself beside the other man on the bed and being inwardly amazed at how _easy _it is to pretend.

But then, he thinks as Courfeyrac moves his hand and the sheets move with it, pushed to the side in a way that a ghost shouldn't be able to do, maybe it's not _really_ pretending.

And maybe this is something new, something nobody has ever experienced before, but as long as it lasts he's going to be grateful.

He just hopes it can last forever.

**Notes:**

**1.** I've had such trouble writing lately but this came surprisingly easily so I thought I would get it down, so I hope it's okay. Comments are always appreciated :)


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